The Bureau of Original Characters: Potter Files
by ericwinter
Summary: Welcome to the Bureau of Original Characters. Never heard of us? Not anymore! We at the Bureau are the Oc's and Self inserts. Do you feel the need for adventure, humor, fun and strange things? Well look no further, we have a staff of highly trained agents ready, willing and eager to show why the Bureau is the right choice for all your OC needs. We want you! Join the Bureau Today!


**Hello there, and welcome to this story! So, to start off, I can't take entire credit for this premise, The Bureau is actually a creation of another writer on this site, Mystborn, and one of their friends. I have, however, been granted permission to join it, and as such, here we are. I won't go into too much detail, since to be honest I'm still not one hundred percent certain of everything to do with it, but I'm sure if you go check out Mystborn's story, which is far longer, you can find out more. For now, however, enjoy!**

XXX

"Oi, get up. You've got a new mission." A layered voice rumbled through the small room, drawing its lone occupant's attention. It wasn't a big room, holding only a bed, a desk, and a small computer glowing in the darkness of night. The person, a young woman, frowned.

"Already? It's only been what, a century since the last one?" The voice laughed, shaking the walls.

"Hey, I'm not the one who botched their execution mission. I just assign you." The woman bared her teeth at the comment, revealing sharp canines as she did.

"Hey, I killed all the chaos-born, didn't I?" She asked, voice edging on petulant. There was a sharp click, and the sound of writing for several seconds before the voice answered.

"Yes, but you also destroyed the tower they were in, one which was crucial to the plot. You have no idea how much damage control I had to run after that." The woman groaned, realizing she couldn't argue that. It wasn't her fault stone broke so easily when subjected to high explosives, but you couldn't tell the boss that, could you?

"Ugh, fine, just get it over with." There was a slight chuckle, and the sound of shifting paper.

"Alright, you've got the usual contract. We are not responsible for, well, anything that happens to you, physically or mentally…" The woman snorted. Her handler, while a bit of a hardass at times, hated paperwork and did his best to be as informal as possible there. "You shouldn't have to worry about selling your soul this time, but just in case you've got the standard one-thousand-year deal. Splitting it though… well if you're stupid enough to do that then the natural consequences should be more than enough." The agent shivered at that. There weren't many worlds where actually manipulating a soul was possible, let alone splitting it… Powers damn it all, now she was suspicious.

"You're not one to rampage much, but if the urge does strike you, make sure to file the anti-headache paperwork… Cupid addendum is in effect, though that should take a few years, but if you manage to get pregnant any kids can stay with their parent until they are eighteen, and will be fully educated." The woman nodded along. It was all the usual stuff, but had to be said.

"I will warn you now, you're on your second strike, so try not to die or fail. This is your last chance. If you do end up compromised, There will be mandatory mind-wipes, but with your skill-set I doubt that will happen… Do you, as an employee of the Bureau, accept? Please state your name, rank, service number, and home reality to confirm." The woman, expecting this, nodded and stood gracefully.

"I, Erica Tiriel Winterborne, rank Captain, Service number 999945637544-PF34 from the home reality of Dark Isolation, do understand and accept this contract." There was a short moment as a golden glow surrounded her, warm and comforting, before it faded. "Now, are you going to tell me where I'm going, or should I just do it blind?" There was sudden tension to the air, the voice had simply forgotten and was just now remembering, before, in a tone that should only eve be accompanied by a shit-eating grin, it spoke.

"That's actually pretty simple, Erica. You're going to magic school." Erica froze as the words hung in the air. Then, just when her features shifted into an expression of rage, there came the sound of a slamming door and fading laughter.

"Oh fuck you!" Erica called to the empty roof, knowing her handler wasn't listening. Seriously, that tower incident must have been worse than she thought if they were sticking her with seven years of needy, hormonal, _children._ Who thought she would be good in _Harry Potter?_

After a moment to calm herself, Erica stood gracefully, walking to one of the blank walls, as she approached, it slid open, and she stepped through into a blindingly white space. In it stood a tall, full-body mirror beside a holographic terminal. Without hesitation she stepped over to it and signed in, watching as the small blue roulette of options spun into place. Before doing anything with it, however, she examined herself in the mirror. Small grey Fox ears sat perched on her head in the midst of her long caramel-colored hair, a legacy of her time spent on Remnant, and her face was framed by delicate, twining tattoos that seemed reminescent of celtic art. Fitting seamlessly into the design was a crescent moon, dark blue like the rest, and positioned directly in the center of her forehead. After a few seconds, Erica nodded. Everything looked fine.

Moving quickly, Erica scrolled through the class menu and selected Alagesian mage for her main, sliding the witch option into her subclass. As much as it may be required for her mission, she felt much more comfortable with the Ancient Language both as a tool and a weapon. Not to mention, she didn't particularly care if her grades were only average. She wasn't there to learn. Moving on, the agent began to equip herself. All of her clothes went into a small bag of holding, simple modern things that could be worn under robes. For weapons, she went minimalistic. She would pick up a wand in Diagon Alley, no doubt, so Erica only grabbed a couple of small knives, tying them to her ankles, before drawing two short sheathes, both the color of quicksilver and the two handles sticking out were adorned with small, but incredibly fine pearls. She drew the blades, running a long finger across the Runes etched into either side of the metal that shivered with power. Choice, for the one in her right, and Consequence for the left, written in the Ancient Language as all Rider's Blades were. With a gentle smile the woman resheathed her weapons and strapped the to her forearms, where they would be well-hidden and easily accessible. Normally she would have them crossed over the small of her back, but doubted the Wizards would take kindly to a student wearing weapons openly.

Once finished, she swiped away the options, and words appeared on the screen. _Would you like to enter your mission? All choices are final except in approved areas._ She tapped the yes key lightly, and the next instant stiffened as electricity tore through her body, and darkness descended.


End file.
